The Book
by Lutris A
Summary: A boy finds a Book in the year 3019, after an apocalyptic event. Follow his reading as he reads on about Harry Potter's history, and the epic tale it entails. Independant!Harry, Dark!Harry, AU.
1. Chapter 1

_The Book_

Lutris Argutiae

_Prologue:_

_The Old Man_

Thinking of the past, I reminiscence on the many things that have happened during my perilous life, of the many lives I have taken over the years. Come to think of it, every one of those souls had a family, parents, friends, and loved ones. They were not monsters, and yet, I slaughtered them as if they were cattle. Their blood is on my hands, stained crimson forever into the future.

My acts were not done in cold blood, however. These were servants of a great evil, no matter how pleasant they were, or how loving they were, it made no difference; they were the hands and feet of a murderer. Murder and rape were no strangers to these men and women, and their actions were done in cold blood, or purely for fun. That was what made us different, what set us apart. I killed criminals for justice, they killed innocents for no reason at all. If there was a reason at all, that would have been at the discretion of Evil. These were the people I killed. These were the people sentenced to eternal death in the pits of the Underworld, where the demons lurked.

I suppose I should do a little more explaining.

It is the year 3019 AD. I know not when you will read this, or if you even comprehend languages in the way my people did. But hear me out. There is a spell on this tome, translating for both you and I. A spell, you say. Sounds like magic doesn't it? That is because it is magic. You may or may not be aware of the existence of magic on the planet Earth, but rest assured this is real. Frighteningly so. I know, because I was raised to kill with magic. Fighting, mauling, murdering. Blood, bone, and muscle, it did not matter. Cut through it with magic, kill the enemy, kill evil; that was all that mattered. The years of War were far into my past, however.

I have been alone and wandering for nigh short of 1000 years- all of my companions and relations dead for over a millennia. That may seem impossible to you, but to me, it is blatantly obvious. I am immortal; I cannot die. Believe me, I have tried. Stabbed in all parts of the body, shot in all vital organs, decapitated, incinerated, boiled alive, thrown off cliffs, drowned, frozen, melted, vaporized... the list goes on. I have lived through it all, and my body shows no sign of dying yet. I know not why I was chosen to live an immortal life, but to all points and purposes, I believe it was part of the prophecy I had taken part in. A kill or be killed situation, with the victor taking all; the winner destined to an everlasting vitality. My enemy, Evil, the Dark Lord, had seemingly won that fateful night, but was vanquished in the end. How, I do not remember. The only thing I do is that I killed him, I won, and His blood was on my hands, just another name and death to be dealt with.

His name was Voldemort.

Somehow, that great Evil that I faced now seems irrelevant to me. He was a Dark Lord, but more importantly, just a man. Just a man who wanted above all else to flee from death, to live forever. He should have been cursed with this gift, yet he was not. I was. And for that I honor his memory. A man who persevered to pursue his dream; the dream of all of mankind. Immortality. He was worthy. He who had killed thousands, and ordered the death of millions was more worthy than any man or woman on this planet. He was not afraid to kill and sacrifice countless others for a dream; only the strong and valiant have such strength.

But I lived, and he did not.

At the Aftermath of the War, I lived. Others rejoiced. I had hoped to be reunited at death with loved ones, to be faced with eternal sleep and bliss. But that was not to be, as I discovered later. Much later. After all, I was Immortal, was I not? Nobody knew at the time. Not even myself. For I hadn't tried to end my life yet, in the joy of peace and the prospect of prosperity. It had been a few years until the fateful time. One day, I remembered. Remembered the deaths of countless, faceless men. Women. Children. And I despaired.

The War killed many.

I think it was then that I had truly realized what I had done. I had killed. Hundreds of souls lost because of me. My hands were eternally shamed, for I had killed in cold blood. They turned red, red as blood. Stained for eternity, as I was soon to find out. In grief I tried to take my own life. Shot myself through the head with a shotgun. One slug and a bang later, I was dead. Or at least for a few seconds. I woke up to find myself bleeding at the temple. Putting a finger to my head, I had then felt the massive hole the shotgun had made in my cranium. But under my touch, it seemed to heal instantly, until there was no hole, and ho scar at where I had shot myself. Puzzled, I had left the thought behind, staring at my crimson palms.

It was then that catastrophe occurred. A Demon, as prophesied by Nostradamus, though a decade late, had leapt forth from the bowels of the Underworld, and scorched the sky. For One Hundred Days and Nights the skies burned in flames. Many more men died in those dark days, until there were no more men to die. As it turns out, I had killed another being on the One Hundred-First Morning. The demon had died, turning my hands a darker red, a deep, burning red.

The ground was burned. The wildlife disappeared. Only a few places in the world retained their heathen beauty, and I spent the next several centuries curing world of its maladies. Gradually, the earth became richer, the skies a clear blue, and the seas clear. Life returned, and with it, humanity. Adam and Eve had come back, apparently. Only two mortals survived the coming of the Demon, one boy and one girl. They had grown, and in the female, the innate gift of magic had resided, and in the male, the gift of knowledge and adaptation. They had restarted the human race, and society formed once again, over the years.

It is now the year 3019 AD. Now, the world is filled with lush forest, teeming with birds, fish, animals, with life. Villages have formed in various locations around the globe. The ruins of castles and tall buildings have provided safe haven for many creatures, even humans for a time.

I think it is time.

Time to leave behind this legacy, the legacy of the End of the First, and the War it entails. I leave this tome containing this legacy here, at the place it all started. The place where I grew up, the place where I killed the Dark Lord, the place I defeated the Demon, the place Adam and Eve had first met. The place, which was given life by four magicians, the wisest of their age.

Hogwarts.

I shall leave this in the late Headmasters' Office. Should anyone come across this volume, this marks the first change. Magic shall once again rejoin the cycle of life. Lost, it has been, ever since the age of Eve. The ability lies dormant in all her children, and so it is in all humanity. The finder of this tome will learn. Learn of the Lost Age, of the Last War, the End of the First Age. Learn, of Magic.

Alas, my time grows short. I must depart, and wander once again. It seems my destiny had forced me to become something I never wanted to be, never dreamed of. I wander this world, nurturing life, encouraging death, for that is what I must do. I am the Immortal. I am the Guardian of this World, the Warrior for the Light and Dark, The Boy-Who-Lived. So it has been, So it is, and So shall it be forever.

I leave this to the Future.

Harry Potter

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An old man, looking at around age eighty or so stood in the clearing. He was wearing a white robe, and a white pointed hat sat on his head, a pure white owl on his shoulder. A tall, gnarled, wooden staff was in his hands, which were stained red. He had a thick, heavy-looking, moss green book tucked under his arm. With a great sigh, he laid his staff down, and took the book. Looking around, as if looking for something important, he walked around the clearing, through the shafts of light drifting in from between the treetops. After a while, he stopped walking, and turned to a stump covered with vines and leaves to his right. With a few muttered words, the vegetation fell away, and a magnificent golden perch appeared, not fitting in with the surrounding nature, looking strangely artificial. The old man placed his hand underneath the bar where a bird would have at one point resided, where for some reason a pile of ash rested on. As he did so, his fingers brushed against a plaque with an engraving on it, clearing the grime and dust away. It read _Fawkes the Phoenix._

The old man stared at the plaque for a few minutes before he moved again. As if lost in memory, he moved about the clearing, vanishing vines and other plants from the many angular shapes adorning the forest floor. Finally, after a few hours, all evidence of the forest was moved into the trees surrounding the clearing, which now sported a large desk, several aged bookcases, and a countless amount of portrait frames. The old man looked upon the desk fondly, and then gazed at the frames, as if hoping for one to be remaining. After a few minutes of silence, the apparently convinced, but visibly saddened old man went back to the desk, and sat on it. Stroking his flowing, pure white beard, which easily reached down to his knees, the old man said,

"Albus, my old, old friend. I haven't visited in a while, but I trust everything is well off in the next world. I thought I'd leave this book for you to guard until someone worthy comes along to find it. You know, just for old times sake. You still owe me that life debt, you know, so I'm charging you to this task. I daresay, Albus, that you actually might enjoy doing this, so don't worry. I'm not telling you to come out of peace for nothing, I promise you that. So. What say you, old friend?"

As if in response, the wind in the trees rustled softly, and a shaft of light shone upon the desk, right beside the old man's seat upon it. The old man nodded in understanding, hopped off with surprising ability for a man of his age, took the battered, timeworn book, and placed it within the beam. The trees rustled again, and the old man nodded once more.

"Well Albus, I must get going. Can't help but wander around at this old age you know, old friend. I'll come back once in a while to check on the book, so be careful with it, and no pranking any muggles who come here just for the fun of it, all right? So, good bye for now, and take care, Albus."

With that, the old man turned around briskly, his robes flowing behind him. He started walking away, and the staff jumped from its resting place against a tree into his awaiting hand. The old man proceeded to leave the clearing, and after stepping into the enclosed, tunnel-like forest just outside, and disappeared into the darkness.


	2. Chapter One: The Boy From The Woods

Chapter 1

The Boy In The Woods and the Boy In the Cupboard

The Boy crawled carefully out of the hut in which his family lived in. The thatched building was fairly easy to sneak out of, judging by the small hole in the wall out back. The Boy stood up slowly, and after checking the coast was clear, dusted himself off quickly, and ran off into the Great Forest.

The Great Forest was just that, a great forest. It stretched for miles around the countryside, until the whole island was covered in it, save for a few select ruins and beaches. Luckily, the Village was close to one of these ruins, and therefore were at a relatively thing part of the Forest. The Boy had planned to visit the ruins with his friends, and explore the area. Of course, there was the matter of curiosity as well; there were a myriad of rumors surrounding the place, like ghosts and other tales of horror and magic.

The Boy had since discovered that none of the village children would risk going outside of the village aside of himself. So it was before, so it would be today.

The Boy stood up. He walked over and grabbed his walking stick, and proceeded to make his way towards the ruins.

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Sir Nicholas De Mimsy Porpington was not having a good day. He hadn't had one in fact, since his Five Hundred and Fourth Deathday in 1996, when he was accepted into the Headless Hunt after centuries of applications. But now, a whole millennia later, he was still miserable; partly because there were no more ghosts to converse with in the castle anymore, and partly because of the total lack of magic in the air. True, the castle had more magic in the air than the surrounding region, but it was next to nothing when compared to the years Hogwarts was an operational school.

Sir Nicholas had hoped for someone to come to the ruins, but when they did, the petty humans would generally escape in horror at the apparition. Oh, he hoped for the day he would be able to finally have a civil conversation with another being, because frankly, talking to trees was not an indication of sanity, even in ghosts.

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The Boy had made it to his destination. The ruins stood before him, towering above the canopy,dwarfing even the highest trees. As he entered the crumbling structure, he couldn't help but wonder if the rumors of ghosts were true or not.

A spectral form drifted out of the wall behind him.

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Sir Nicholas was ecstatic. Finally, for the first time in over two-hundred years, a human had come. Someone he could talk to, and maybe even befriend. Of course, the chances of that happening were close to nothing, as the cowardly mortals all ran away at his, 'Nearly Headless' act. He thought it was quite amusing, actually.

But back to the present. Sir Nicholas glided through the many walls in the ancient castle, towards the Boy. Going through floors and cupboards, walls and doors, he came to a stop in the former Great Hall of Hogwarts. Taking a glance, cautious as not to be found, he could see the Boy by the Headmaster's seat. Apparently, the child was admiring the now lush forest inside of the once-magnificent hall.

Deciding he would look at the youth at a later time, Sir Nicholas glided past the Boy's body, and disappeared into the other wall, leaving a slightly frightened and bugged out Boy to gather his wits about himself.

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The Boy started towards one of the passageways going up, towards the higher canopies. Cautiously walking over the mossy stones and bits of rubble strewn across the floors, he arrived at the spiral staircase, and looked up. He could see the various trees and branches covering the open ceiling, and soft, golden rays of sunlight entered the building from here.

Tearing his eyes away from the mystifying vision, the Boy started his way up the staircase, warily eyeing the roots and moss sprouting on the stairs. He trudged up the ancient stairs, and could not help but notice the numerous empty and decaying frames hanging on the walls. They felt empty, like they had once been filled with life, or something like it, but were now drained completely.

The Boy made his way to the top floor, and walking down the dark, mossy corridor, came to the roots of a great tree. More than thirty hand-lengths wide, and at least five times as high, the tree gave off a sense of majesty and prestige. As he looked at the tree, a small opening opened up at the base of it, and a light could be seen flowing out of it. Curious, the Boy bent down to look at it, and crawled in.

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Albus Dumbledore had always thought that death was the next greatest adventure. But now, since he was safely dead, and had been so for many years, he could say that death wasn't thrilling or exciting at all. All it was was dreadfully boring; everything was white, people forgot about you after a while, and there weren't any lemon drops to suck on either.

But, Harry had come in visiting about two hundred years ago, and given him a task back in the mortal plane. To safeguard a certain Book and to make sure it fell into the right hands. Right now, Albus could feel the potential rolling off of this boy in waves. And in this moment, he knew that he would pass The Book to this youngster so reminiscent of the Immortal.

Albus watched as the Boy walked tentatively towards the shaft of light in the center of the room, gazing at the book. Mesmerized, he took the book from its resting place on the desk, and opened it.

Albus chuckled lightly; the kid was in for one long, hard, and complex history lesson.

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-Enter mindless babble about Harry's home life here-

(sorry if this breaks the story up too much, but I'm much to lazy to write all of this down in a history lesson format, much less a narrative. Speaking of which, all of the things in the Book, ergo. Harry's timeline, will be told narrative style with some first person POv's mixed in.)

And so it was that the savior of the Wizarding world found himself placed at the Dursley's once more, 'for his own protection' as Dumbledore put it. Harry had spent several weeks of the first month of summer thinking, (but working at the same time) and had drawn some interesting conclusions about himself, his abilities, and magic in general.

Harry had, in fact, lost his Godfather, Sirius Black at the Department of Mysteries incident at the end of his last school year, and was in somewhat of a depression. Of course, this only lasted for several days, as he was never extremely close to the man. The loss of the only father figure in his life might have had something to do with his grieving, and the majority of the time was spent crying over the loss of a hope of a warm welcome and safe haven. No, the death of the man served a much higher purpose.

Sirius Black, to Harry Potter, was a lesson. A lesson to never let his brazen side through, to let his naturally intelligent and cunning attitude control him. After all, the only reason he wasn't sorted into Slytherin at the Sorting Ceremony was for the conscious wish to get into Gryffindor. Therefore, his mindset must have been a distinctly Slytherin one before his Hogwarts years. Also, considering his mother's bookish intelligence and his father's brilliance for adaptation (how else would the Marauders survived the fruititions of their own pranks), Harry would have had to have been an extraordinarily adept student of magic. But he was not. He was just your average Joe power and potential wise, but surely his heritage spoke for higher traits than his own?

He was a Gryffindor, and the answer lies therein. Gryffindors were brash, prejudiced, and foolishly noble. That was everything his nature was not, yet he was shaped to become by one man, and one man only. Albus Dumbledore. The man obviously meant the best for the people and the 'greater good', but his manipulations had in reality, forced people to bend to his will, and had caused him to walk over them.

But not Harry. Not anymore.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tomorrow, Harry would turn sixteen.

Tomorrow, Harry Potter would disappear.

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The Boy was honestly intrigued. Who exactly was this 'Harry' person? What was there to learn about magic? The wars, battles, enemies... a myriad of questions danced in his mind.

Excited, he took the book from its shaft of life, and tucked it into his shirt. He made his way out of the canopies, and walked down from the corridor, down the countless staircases, and stepped into the bright sunlight. The Boy squinted at the light for a few moments, then his eyes adjusted successfully.

He appeared outside, and scampered off into the forest. The Boy ran back to his village quickly, and continued to read the next chapter/lesson in The Book.


	3. Chapter Two: The Mirror On The Walls

Chapter Two

The Mirror on the Walls

The Boy made a mad dash towards the exit of the schoolhouse. Kicking up clouds of dust behind him, he barreled through the door, and scampered off towards the east side of the village, the side of town he lived in. Running through the marketplace and past the various stalls, he skidded to a stop at the edge of town, and ventured into the Great Forest.

The Boy, after a short stroll along the thin path leading into the woods, came to the clearing he had stopped in the day before. He went to the other side of the small space, and stepped on to the felled log lying on its side. Reaching up, he grabbed ahold of one of the lower branches, and swung himself up. He crawled up the tree much like a squirrel would have, and sat on one of the higher branches. Reaching into his shirt and pulling out The Book, he opened it to the marked page, and started reading.

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Harry had discovered on the first day of summer that he, and every other magical minor over age thirteen had had their Underage Magic Restrictions removed, due to the open declaration of War against the Dark Lord Voldemort. Taking advantage of this, he had practiced using magic throughout the summer, and had progressed exponentially. Harry found that he worked better alone, and discovered many things about his magic and nature that were previously unexplained or otherwise ignored. For one, he had discovered, after reading a particularly interesting text (regarding magical theory) from the Black Family Library, (pilfered from Number 12 Grimmauld Place before being locked in at Privet Drive) that magic was absolutely ALL about intent.

At first Harry hadn't believed this. But then he cast a simple levitation charm, and after several attempts, managed to produce the effects of a summoning charm when directed towards a spare quill. He then figured that his wish that the quill come to him was strong enough that it disregarded the desire shown when uttering the levitation charm. As a result, the quill had come to him, and had he not been wearing glasses, would have poked his eye out with the bit.

From then on, Harry had practiced using different incantations to produce different spell effects than intended. This required an incredible amount of focus, something he possessed now in vast quantities, his wit and intelligence coming into play. While doing so, he had conjured teacups with the Reductor curse, transfigured Dudley's old socks into several mice with a tickling charm, and even charmed Vernon's neon-pink with the Imperius Curse (causing much disrest and agitation within the Dursley family). It was hard work, but he knew it had the potential to save his life someday.

But this was not the only thing he had practiced. After pondering over the prophecy after its revelation at Dumbledore's Office, Harry had often thought over the possibility that him, a schoolboy fifteen, barely sixteen years of age defeating the most powerful Dark Lord in several hundred years in a one-on-one duel.

Nope. Nada. Not happening.

So he had had to practice magic over the summer, much like he was doing now. However, this was virtually useless if he didn't have anything useful to replace the common charms with. This was where the Black Family Library came in handy yet again. Books and volumes full of powerful curses, hexes, and enchantments, whether Dark or Light, were present there. He had, along with the magical theory tome, taken the lot (close to nearly eighty books) from Grimmauld via a bottomless bag purchased at Zonko's on the last Hogsmeade trip.

Harry had started to use minor Dark curses and some of the more violent Light ones at the beginning of the summer, aiming at an encanted muggle dartboard. Then it fell apart due to the strain it was put under, and he had purchased a magic nullifier , which, as its name suggests, nullified magic. It served its purpose sitting on the wall, a four foot by four foot square of magically immune poster board he could aim spells at. It was strong enough to handle anything but the Killing Curse, which he couldn't cast anyway, due to the inherent evil needed to cast it. So, with a target to practice on, he had proceeded into the next level of power, with nasty spells like the gruesome Disembowlment Hex, and the painful Blood-Boiling Curse.

Harry found that with every complex enchantment, his magical control increased slightly, and with him casting over several hundred spells a day, by the time of his birthday, he had surpassed most trainee Aurors' control wise.

After the first night of casting, Harry could physically feel the magical depletion he had put his body through, and was thoroughly exhausted. By the end of the first week, however, it appeared that his magical core had expanded, and he could manage on average about one-hundred and fifty consecutive curses greater than when he first started. By the end of his brief training period (lasting until his birthday), his core had been able to expand so much that he managed a mean of three thousand magical depletion level equivalents of a Reductor Curse daily; three times greater than what he could at the end of his Fifth Year.

Armed with a hefty knowledge of offensive spells and curses, significantly increased magical control, and an exponential increase in magic levels, Harry was now ready to head out of Privet Drive, and cut open his own destiny.

The guards around his house were always there, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the whole of the summer vacation. No gaps were present in the guards shift schedule, so escaping in between watches was out of the question.

Considering that fact, Harry had long since decided that he would disappear on Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody's watch. Of course, the fact that he could see through things (even Invisibility Cloaks) made it noticably harder to escape on say, Arthur Weasley's watch, but there was one advantage to having him as a watchman. When Mad-Eye Moody was guarding the house, there was no one in the back yard, or behind Number 4 at all. The ability to see through things let Moody work alone, as he usually prefered; after all, if there was trouble, he could call on the rest of the Order of the Pheonix to help via Order pendant. That meant that if Harry could somehow disable Moody's eye, or distract him, there was ample time to escape through the back yard, and not be found until he wished to.

Since there was no foolproof magical way of doing it, Harry had decided to rely on logic and muggle science to thwart Moody's eye. His reasoning was thus: if Moody's eye could see through things, then it must have had some magical equivalent of an X-ray charmed onto it. Therefore, since the X-ray was in essence just a beam of light, the Eye must have been sending out and receiving some light signals in order to see through the objects he needed to see through. From this conclusion, Harry figured that a mirror could be used to turn Moody's eye back onto him. The problem was, was there a mirror large enough that could disable Moody's eye?

And there was his answer, plain as daylight. He would transfigure the house's external features and the whole front yard to become highly reflective and silverish like a mirror, and in the several short minutes between the confusion his 'change of house' would bring and the arrival of reinforcements from the Order of the Pheonix, disappear amongst the many houses in Surrey's neighborhood, and call the Knight Bus. Apparating was out of the question, Floo was impossible, and a Portkey was Very illegal, with a capital V just in case. Thus leaving his last choice for instantaneous transportation, the Knight Bus. From there, it was just him cutting his own way open, with only his own head for guidance.

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Harry awoke to the morning of July 31st, 1996 with a very annoying and loud alarmclock (thank god for the silencing charms placed between the room and the rest of Number 4). Slamming his palm down onto the 'Alarm Off' button, he drowsily pulled off his covers, and stripped down to his boxers. Walking over to the magnificent mahogany cabinet that now resided in his room, he pulled out a new pair of boxers, two black socks, a pair of casual jeans, a black t-shirt (sporting the heading, 'I H8 Voldemort'), and a short sleeved collared shirt. Rolling the clothes up into a ball, he stumbled out of his room sleepily, and went into the bathroom. He locked the door, took off his underwear, and stepped in the shower, turning the hot water faucet as he did so.

After several minutes of an extremely relaxing shower, he clambered out, dried himself off with a charm, and pulled his clothes on. Walking back to his room, he opened the door, and went in. Moody's shift was not for another seven hours, at five o'clock, and he had to wait for the cover of dusk to safely run away, and call the Knight Bus. Since practicing magic was out of hand (unless he really wanted to pass out while on the run) , he decided on amusing himself by continuing the magical theory book.

Opening to page one thousand and ninety three, he started reading the section concerning the legendary skill of wandless magic.

The Art of Wandless Magic is an impossible feat for wizards. This was proven by the renown magical theorist and Dark Wizard Jason McBourney (1586-1668), when his numerous attempts to conduct wandless magic through his body and into the form of a rather powerful Killing Curse. He managed to correctly cast it, but the magical backlash proved so great that his entire manor and the surrounding territories of around fifteen square kilometers, was incinerated by a supposedly emerald green inferno, the same color as the deadly curse. The reasoning behind his untimely demise where discovered over two centuries later, by Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel during their study of dragon's blood in 1879. Albus Dumbledore had also attempted wandless magic before, but smartly stuck to small things such as levitation, and minor transfigurations. In doing so, he managed to at maximum, pass out for three days at a time, and did not suffer any long-lasting damage, aside from a strong addiction to a muggle sweet he claimed to have been named 'lemon-drop'. From this, he concluded, among other things, that the human body had openings to let magic out of the body, much like sweat evaporating from the body. This emission of magic was so small, that forcing a spell of focused magic through any of these would result in the immediate magical overload in the body, and shutting down of magical energies, ergo resulting nauseousness, unconciousness, or death. Any use of accidental wandless magic, or wandless magic out of desperation, is of an uncontrollable surge of magic through emotion, or any other various reasons not of our control.

However, during one of his attempts to cast a summoning spell for his research on dragon's blood, he had forgotten to wash his hands of undiluted Antipodean Opaleye blood, and also to pick up his wand. The result was that the blood conducted the magic from his magical channels, (see page 567 on the Magical Anatomy of a Wizard) and enabled him to cast the first ever successful attempt of wandless magic, and prompting the discovery of the widely unknown 13th Use of Dragon's Blood (Class-Omega Restricted Unspeakable Information).

With this discovery, Flamel had engineered, with his impressive alchemical abilities, a stone which enabled the user to channel magic through it successfuly, and more efficiently than any wand would. The exact mixture is unknown, but Flamel is rumored to have purchased large amounts of Horned Archimedes dragon blood, powdered basilisk fang, and crushed unicorn femur, amongst other both rare and standard alchemical components. It is also worthy to note that Albus Dumbledore has been seen wearing a golden ring with a blood-red stone on both hands starting soon after the official documentation of the 12 Uses of Dragons Blood research paper.

Since the exact process is lost, the reconstruction and replication of such a stone is impossible, and as there have ben only three of these ever made, it is impossible to obtain one. Dumbledore having possessing two of these stones, and the last donated to the Department of Mysteries for research.

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Harry continued to read, entranced at the prospect of finding such a stone. Although it was clearly impossible, he continued to fantasize about the possibilties of wandless magic.

This certainly explained the blatant use of Dumbledore's wandless magic. Come to think of it, he remembered seeing his Headmaster wearing golden rings with rubies set in them, although he now knew these to be an alchemical compound of dragon's blood. So, wandless magic was definitely NOT an option in a magical fight, he would have to get another wand crafted for him, in case he somehow was robbed of his current phoenix feathered wand. This would have to be one of the first stops in his shopping spree he would have to make in the near future.

Looking at the clock, he found that it was past five o'clock, and was nearing seven. Harry quickly shrunk his packed trunk, placed a unbreakable charm on it, and slipped it into his pocket. Grabbing his Invisibility Cloak, he sent Hedwig out to hunt with orders to come and find him later, and to not fall into Order hands. Pulling his wand out of its holster on the back of his hip, he quickly muttered,

"Transfigure the Estate of Number 4 Privet Drive into having a mirror surface!"

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Alastor was clearly not enjoying his shift as Order Guard to Harry Potter. Taking a deep swig of Firewhiskey from his hip-flask, he sighed. The boy had been sitting on his bed for quite some time now, reading a book (it was too far for him to identify what it was).

Boring.

But then, Potter had abruptly gotten up, shrunk the trunk, let his owl out, pulled out an Invisibility Cloak, drew his wand, and grinned madly.

Wait.

DREW HIS WAND?

The kind of preparation this kid was showing in packing up, getting any unknown factors out of the way, and securing undetection was alerting his paranoia like hell, and when he pulled out his wand, Alastor just knew something was going to happen. Something bad.

With a flourish, Potter muttered under his breath. And suddenly, all Alastor could see was the setting sun reflected in the now reflective surface of the whole building, and surrounding properties. Lights flickering before his normal eye, and with his magical, electric blue eye whizzing about in confusion, he could barely reach under his robes to pull out the Order pendant.

"ALBUS! POTTER EMERGENCY! COME NOW! I REPEAT: POTTER EMERGENCY! COME NOW!"

He practically yelled into the pendant, causing many windows to open up, and the many irate women of the residences of Privet Drive started screaming at the lunatic old disfigured old man yelling into a pendant.

Alastor passed from sensory overload a few seconds later.

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Harry pulled on his cloak and dashed out of the back door as soon he had cast the spell. After all, intent was everything right? The spell didn't matter, as long he had enough will power to persuade his magic to respond to his touch. Of course, his magic levels were almost two-thirds depleted, so after running a few blocks down, called the Knight Bus.

A few seconds of silence later, the Knight Bus appeared with a loud BANG!. The ever-recognizable face of Stan Shunpike popped out, and hollered,

"Good Evenin' sir, you gettin' on?"

"Well, why else would I call the bleedin' bus you moron?"

Stan was visibly annoyed at the blatant insult, but then asked,

"Where to sir?"

"Kings Cross Station."

------------------------------------------------------

Exactly one hour later at 7:29, Harry payed 15 sickles and 4 knuts, and got off the bus. With another loud BANG, the Knight Bus disappeared into the streets of London, and Harry walked into the station.

Strolling into the coffee stand, he bought a medium sized Blue Mountain, mixed in some milk and two sugar cubes, and sat down. Sipping the coffee, he stayed there for another five minutes, and then walked out.

Harry walked over to the regular muggle bus stop of Kings Cross, got on the next bus, and rode off into the city.

----------------------------------------------------

The Boy closed the Book, sitting pensively. The mental images the book sent him were certainly detailed; he could now identify a muggle, their buses, several spells, and that Mad-Eye character. Shaking his head clear of Harry and his tale, he put the Book into his shirt again, climbed down the tree, and walked home.


End file.
